"Let us go on to the park," said Valentine; "the sun is too warm
here."

"I know a little spot just fitted for a fairy bower," said
Ronald. "Let me show it to you. I can tell my story better
there."

They went through the broad gates of the park, across which the
checkered sunbeams fell, where the deer browsed and king-cups and
tall foxgloves grew--on to the brook side where Dora had rested
so short a time since to think of her new-found happiness.

The pale primroses had all died away, the violets were gone; but
in their place the deep green bank was covered with other flowers
of bright and sunny hue. The shade of tall trees covered the
bank, the little brook sang merrily, and birds chimed in with the
rippling water; the summer air was filled with the faint, sweet
summer music.

"It is a pretty spot," said Miss Charteris.

The green grass seemed to dance in the breeze, and Ronald made
something like a throne amid it.

"You shall be queen, and I your suppliant," he said. "You
promise to listen; I will tell you my story."

They sat a few minutes in deep silence, broken only by the
singing brook and the music of the birds; a solemn hush seemed to
have fallen on them, while the leaves rustled in the wind.